Joe thought for a moment. Weighing the proposal. And, from the poker face he adopted, clearly liking it. Seeing a way to win the game, Mickey presumed. The gangster eased off his Armani jacket, dropping it to the ground at his feet. Unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off. Kicked off his expensive trainers, then unzipped his jeans and stepped out of them. Dropped his boxers and pulled off his socks. Stood naked, shivering in the pre-dawn chill.

‘Happy now?’

Mickey shrugged.

‘As happy as I’m going to get. Step back another five paces. Stop.’

He fished Joe’s phone out of his jacket. The car keys from his jeans pocket. Pushed the unlock button on the key’s plastic body. Opened the car door and checked it for weapons.

‘Get in the car. Leave the door open.’ He thumbed the machine pistol’s selector to full auto. ‘Try anything clever. I’ll dump the rest of the mag into you. And don’t fool yourself closing the door will protect you. All that’ll happen if you put it between me and you is that each round I fire will bring a chunk of sheet metal and sound insulation with it.’

Joe climbed into the Rhino. Wincing at the cold leather’s touch on his naked skin. Mickey reached out and passed him the phone. Keeping the weapon’s barrel levelled at him.

‘Make the call.’ And then leaned forward. Ready to unload the rest of the magazine into Joe at the slightest provocation. The gang leader selected a number from the phone’s recent history and pressed the green button.

‘It’s Joe. Yeah, that Joe… No, just fucking listen. Release the woman. Now. And give her your phone.’ He listened for a moment. ‘Yeah, you could keep your phone. In which case I’ll have to have Rocco put it in the cement?’ And waited for the response. ‘Yeah. With you still holding it. Do it now!’

He looked at Mickey. ‘They’ll do it.’

‘I’m sure they will, given your unique motivational style. Give me the phone.’

Mickey kept his eyes and the weapon’s barrel levelled at Joe. Waited for Roz to talk to him. Joe stared through the car’s windscreen with a look of repressed fury. Unwilling to meet his gaze. Knowing he was beaten, or just waiting for his moment? Mickey wondered.

‘Mickey?’

Roz. Sounding more angry than scared. The sound of her heels on the pavement, moving fast. Hopefully towards the nearest lights and traffic.

‘You OK?’

‘No thanks to you, yeah. They just shoved me in some shithole room and ignored me.’

‘And you’re clear of the place? Did anyone follow you?’

‘Yes. And no.’

‘Good. I—’

‘The next time we talk, Mickey Bale, you’d better have a good lawyer! You lied to me, you betrayed our trust and you got me kidnapped! So fuck you! That’s you and me—’